


Back in Brooklyn

by keepitdreamin



Series: Back in Brooklyn [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Returns, Gen, Possibly Pre-Slash, Short, continued one shot, i'm not even sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepitdreamin/pseuds/keepitdreamin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve had been searching for him for months without a trace… and here he was, asleep on his couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back in Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> After SHIELD fell, Steve moved back to Brooklyn, and that's where he finally finds Bucky. Or, more accurately, Bucky finds him

The apartment was empty when he arrived. He broke in through a window near midnight. Well, 'broke in' wasn't quite accurate because the window had no locks on it in the first place. That was curious, and he prepared for a trap, for a gun pointed at his head, for an explosion, for a dozen agents to come busting in through the door and drag him away. He held his breath and waited for a beat. Then another. When 5 minutes had passed with him balanced on the windowsill and no threats becoming evident, he slipped fully into the room.

The room was neat and plain. Absolutely ordinary in every way. There was a tv and next to it shelves lined with dvds and books. There was a gaming console and a handful of games stacked neatly beside it. The couch and chairs looked comfortable but drab, the only real character coming from the blue throw blanket on the back of the couch. There was a universal remote on the coffee table, and a neat stack of nondescript magazines: _National Geographic,_ _Time, Sports Illustrated,_ _Popular Mechanics, The New Yorker,_ on the side table. The only seemingly personal things were a record player in the corner and a few framed photographs, some weathered with age. Several lamps were scattered around the room and he knew when they were on, the room would be bright and warm. He did not turn them on.

He ghosted through the rest of the apartment. The kitchen's appliances were all brand new, hardly been used. There was barely any food in the fridge or cabinets, and the only things that looked well used were the stacks of takeout menus in a drawer. The bathroom was basic. Shower, toilet, sink. Toiletries put away neatly in a cabinet behind the mirror and every surface spotlessly clean. The spare room had only a bed, nightstand, dresser, and closet. There were outfits and mismatched clothes in various sizes stored there, as well as two separate go bags stashed under the bed, and assorted weapons in a trunk in the closet. He left those untouched and moved on. He didn't enter the main bedroom. The door was unlocked, but he left the knob unturned and made his way back to the living room.

* * *

When Steve came home, he was asleep, lying stiffly on the couch, head pillowed on his arm and blanket drawn halfheartedly around himself. Steve paused mid step and blinked rapidly at the man on his couch. He'd been searching for him for months without a trace… and here he was, asleep on his couch. He almost coughed or called out to wake him, but quickly decided against it. He was exhausted, and Bucky, The Winter Soldier, whoever, looked like he hadn't slept in days, and for all Steve knew, he might not have. He should probably call someone, Sam definitely, let him know… tomorrow. He yawned. Yeah, tomorrow would work.

He moved as quietly as he could and avoided the living room, only stopping in briefly to leave a glass of water and granola bar on the coffee table, before heading to bed. His last thought before unconsciousness was simply a wish that Bucky, or whatever he was going by right now, would still be there when he woke up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah,it was really late (so late it was actually early) when I got this idea stuck in my head and had to type it, so I'm sorry for any mistakes or poor grammar. Hope you enjoyed :)


	2. Faking It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He woke when the key turned in the lock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had a bunch of little thoughts and ideas for this universe just on my computer for a while now and decided "Hey, might as post some of it." So yeah, this is gonna be updated occasionally.

With the soft _click_ of a key turning in the lock, he was alert and wide awake, but he kept his eyes closed and breathing even as the door opened. There was the heavy footsteps of a tired man, and then the pause, the break midstep, that he knew meant he'd been seen. He tensed minutely on the couch, hand itching for a gun or knife, ready to run or fight if the situation demanded it… Then Steve yawned and continued on his way, stepping lighter now, obviously trying to not disturb him. He presumed that Steve would just go directly to bed, after all he'd been fighting a new super villain most of the day and must be exhausted, and he was mildly surprised when he reentered the living room and set something gently on the table before finally going to his own bedroom.

Once the door had shut and enough time had passed for him to be sure he was alone again, he opened his eyes. There on the table was a glass of water and a… he sat up and leaned closer to inspect it… Granola bar. Crunchy Oats and Honey. His brows furrowed, and he tried to remember the last time he had eaten but drew a blank. He blinked. Oh. That probably wasn't good. He eyed the bar again. It didn't appear tampered with, and Steve didn't seem the type to knowingly give him anything that had been poisoned anyway… He opened the wrapper and took a bite. He could taste no trace of poison or sleeping agents. It was… good. He finished both bars in a few bites then took a sip of water to wash it down. The cool liquid came as a relief to his dry throat and he gulped the rest of it down eagerly.

_Well_ , he thought as he repositioned himself more comfortably on the couch, eyelids growing heavy, _that_ _went_ _better than anticipated._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any errors


	3. The Morning

The morning was a strange time. There was a period right before the sun rose when the sky would brighten and the world stood still, when the moon and the stars were just beginning to fade, and the air still held a distinct night time chill.

This was the time he liked best, and it was one of the few things he could always remember. No matter where he was, _when_ he was, _who_ he was, he'd pause briefly and take notice. On a frozen morning in Russia, the icicles would glint and gleam in the predawn light and smoke had just began drifting out of chimneys. On a summer day in a small town in Utah, the smell of freshly brewing coffee would waft through the air accompanied with the soft sound of children yawning and complaining as they were packed into trucks for fishing trips. In a small village in the middle of nowhere, there was a legend that spoke of demons and spirits and evil things traveling at that time; he walked those streets and was met with total silence.

Today, he sat on a fire escape in New York City and watched as an early morning jogger ran past a nurse just coming off a double shift and a cabbie drove by with tired eyes. The distinct smell of baking bread wafted through the air from the storefront across the street, and his stomach growled lightly. He eyed the shop with renewed interest. It would be open shortly and he had enough money for some pastries. _Raspberry muffins_ suddenly popped into his mind along with an image of a small blonde boy and an overwhelming feeling of warmth and _home_. He swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat. That was a good memory, he was sure. Most of the ones of blonde hair and bright smiles were.

-

Marisol looked up as the bell above the door jingled. The man in the doorway looked grungy and a little lost, but the way his eyes flicked around the room sharply made her think he was more than what met the eye. He looked like he could be homeless, and she began mentally going through what was in her 'donation' case. Not much because she'd just gone by the shelter yesterday, but there was a loaf or two and some pastries that hadn't turned out quite right- but were still perfectly edible.

“Good morning!” she called cheerily as she slid some freshly made pastries into their display case. “How can I help you?” she asked wiping her hands on her apron.

The guy started and focused on her. “Do you have raspberry muffins?” he asked, voice low and gravelly, like it hadn't been used in a long time. “I have money,” he added hastily, probably realizing how he looked and how that might lend to some doubt on his monetary status.

Marisol smiled at him. “Well sir, you're in luck. We have a batch here fresh out of the oven. How many do you want?” she asked as she moved over to the muffin case.

The guy pulled a wallet out of his pocket, “However many for this.” He placed a handful of crumpled bills on the counter.

Marisol reached over and sorted them out quickly, two tens, two fives and seven ones, then took it with a smile. “Alrightey then sir. Now, do you want _just_ raspberry muffins, or say, a dozen of those and an assortment of others? We have blueberry buttermilk, chocolate chip, banana with tart lemon icing, brown sugar cinnamon, mocha banana, apple cinnamon sugar donut, snickerdoodle, cranberry with orange marmalade glaze…” she ticked off on her fingers.

He considered these and looked down at the display case. “Yes, a, uh, a dozen raspberry, and uhm... blueberry, chocolate chip, and uh apple cinnamon… please,” he added almost as an afterthought.

“Coming right up.” She pulled out a few pastry boxes and began filling them up with muffins. “So, you were in the service?” she asked conversationally.

When he tensed and looked at her like she might be a threat, she nodded at the dog tags visible over his shirt. Realizing that, he relaxed a titch, and reached up to tuck them back in. He averted his eyes from hers, focusing on the muffins, “Uhm, yeah, I was.”

“My brother is enlisted right now. Air force,” she explained, “with the… 35th, I think, out of Japan.”

She didn't expect him to reply, but then he shifted, “I… I knew some guys from the 35th. They were good… uh, good guys.”

“Ah, well that's my brother. Maybe you've met him.”

His lips turned up in a sad smile, “Probably not. It's… been a while.” He fell silent again, eyes unfocused and looking blankly at the cake display.

She hmmed in response but didn't continue, as she closed the boxes and set them on the counter, then grabbed a cookie from another case and slid it into a paper sleeve. She put it on top of the boxes then slid them across. His eyes flickered from the cookie to her and she smiled, “It's raspberry cheesecake, on the house. Thank you for your service.”

As he picked up the boxes, he offered her a rusty smile. “Thank you.”

Marisol waved as he walked out the door, and, as she turned back to the displays, she made a mental note to call her brother.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm marking this wok as completed because, though I have a lot of ideas and snippets from this universe, I don't have the time/energy to really try to make them form a cohesive multi-chapter story like this would have to be. If you're interested, I'm going to be posting some of those snippets in a series that can be read with this one, and maybe one day, I'll finally be able to treat this the way I want and write a long fic (but probably not anytime soon).


End file.
